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Monthly Archives: July 2013

Gold Stars fall from the sky

31 Wednesday Jul 2013

Posted by marymargaretmaule in Community outreach, military tributes, Uncategorized

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Marcelles, Middle East Conflict Memorial Wall

Some days, I wish I never quit smoking.  It isn’t the cigarette I miss but the catharsis. I remember sitting in the dark, staring at the glow of my cigarette as I exhaled smoke like a dragon. The very act of smoking is designed destruction- your lungs, the cigarette …all of it.

It all seemed very poetic.

Company in my solitude. Something to focus on- breath in, breathe out. The feel of smoke in my lungs, the taste on my tongue, the smell of sulfur from the match wrapped in intense concentration.

Now, I meditate.  It’s cheaper.  And you aren’t relegated to a windy hill.

But, today?  As I stand in the rain along side a dirty Illinois River looking at the monument to those who have lost their lives in the Middle East conflicts-  today, I could really use a smoke.

My brother in law was riding to Sturgis from Maine and asked that we meet him for a leg of the trip.  We just needed to decide where to meet.

In steps the universe. A video about the Middle East Conflict Memorial wall in Marcelles, Il showed up on my Facebook feed.

It is between Fort Wayne and Rock Island. Check.

It is only 96 miles south. Check.

It rained for 50 of them.  Sucked.

Four days ago, I didn’t even know this place existed.  Now I am standing in the rain with an ache in my heart staring at granite panels with thousands of names….. the grief washes over me to see a physical evidence of the cost we have suffered.

How is that even possible?

The monument is on the edge of a corporate parking lot, alongside the Illinois River. The dirty water is as grey as the overcast skies.

There is a disheveled look to the area; broken pavement, dirt and sand strewn about, the remnants of a 100 year flood that ravaged the area recently.

I imagine it looks like a war zone.

The rain adds to the experience as if the skies themselves are weeping.   Why should I be spared the dirt and the destruction they likely died amongst?

I look around taking it all in.

There are tokens left along the wall; military patches and plastic bracelets. Photos with hand written notes sharing details of who their loved ones were.

What made him laugh. Who he loved.

That he is missed.

I see three Bud Lights place in front of the panel containing the names of KIAs from 2011; placed in front of different names; promised beers amongst brothers.

I walk slowly along the panels. I find his name. Micha’s brother. I catch my breath and my eyes fill. I’m caught off guard by the rise of emotions that rock me.  I didn’t even know him, but to see his name on this wall is like a boot to the head.  I hear Micha’s voice describing his brother over coffee. Collier was killed in a mortar attack in Iraq weeks after his 21st birthday. He never bought him that beer. 

There are Desert boots are made into memorials filled with cement, flags and flowers; poignant and powerful. They are almost pretty.

Some one emptied their pocket of change, perhaps for a debt never repaid.

And there in the rain was one lone cigarette.

I need distance from the granite wall. I go towards the building to see the museum.

The museum was started when Illinois Valley Cellular realized that some of the tokens had been stolen or worse thrown into the river.

Who does that?

The museum is being reassembled. Volunteers had removed everything in advance of the rising flood waters.  There is love and tenderness in ever corner of the room, mingled with tears, and pain and loss.  The photos, the tokens, letters, medals are a story that can live on.

These tokens keep their loved ones alive.

The memorial is a privately funded.  It is a collaborative effort of a small community, small business owners and no small amount of commitment.  Every June, there is a Motorcycle run that draws tens of thousand of people to this little town for a ceremony that reads the names of the men and women who died in previous year. Thousands of people come to stand witness.  It took the government 20 years to recognize those lost in Vietnam. It took the government 60 years to recognize the sacrifice of World War II.  This wall honors the sacrifice within 12 months.

It is the only monument of its kind.

I wish there wasn’t a need.

The founders said they made the wall to say thank you for those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

I want to say I’m sorry.

So very, very sorry.  God Bless.

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Dust in the wind

23 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by marymargaretmaule in Uncategorized

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We were supposed to have coffee. I have screwed up our meeting that last few times- said yes when I was driving and couldn’t write it down, so they slipped my mind like a leaf in a the river that is a post menopausal brain.  He would text to check if we were still on.  He would greet me with a smile and a hug.

So, this time, I set my alarm. I got up early, had my coffee.

And text him. I was proud of myself for being on top of things. I asked if I should pick him up or meet him somewhere.

He didn’t answer. I text again a while later, wondering if perhaps he forgot.   He doesn’t forget. I thought about military training and time. How the people in my life who served are also punctual. Punctuality has been my life’s challenge.

“I see you are running on Navy time.” The Army infantryman I interview would joke as I slid in just under the wire for our meeting.

But this is different. He would at least text me back and tell me he forgot. Nothing.

I sent another text telling him to call when he could and went about my day.

I read about the death of a young Army veteran in Idaho who has been missing for a several days. His family had been making frantic appeals on Facebook asking for help finding their loved one. He was missing. He had PTSD. He was in crisis.

The urgency was electric in the messages. Hope in the responses from people who thought they had seen him. It has been bouncing around for nearly a week.

Today- there was a simple prayer and an image of Erik Jorgenson in his Combat shirt and ACU pants looking softly at a puppy in his arms. Someone had photo shopped angels wings on him. Erik had taken his own life to end his pain.  But like a horrible virus that just keep mutating, his pain was merely transformed into the heart broken grief of his sister, mother, friends and battle buddies.  It was sad. I felt bad.  I did what many others did, I wrote a thoughtful phrase on Facebook telling his family how sorry I was.  And then I went on with my day.

But the universe has a way of shaking you awake.

At 1:42 pm I received a text from him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I had a rough night last night. One of my buddies I deployed with committed suicide and I found out last night.  I didn’t fall asleep until 6am. I just woke up.”

My heart sank. I called. His voice broke my heart. He tells me he is going to go run as he fights the tears on the edge of his voice.  He promises to call when he returns but he really just needs to go for a run right now.

I sit with the phone in my hand and think about how often he runs. He runs a lot.  Five miles. Ten miles.  In brutal heat, soft rain, doesn’t matter. He runs a lot.

Pushing his body to the point of screaming louder than the memories in his head, the pain in his heart and the loneliness that lives below that slow brilliant smile that fools everyone into thinking he is fine.

He isn’t fine.

There have been 7 suicides amongst the unit he deployed with.

Each death leaves another chink in his armor.

Each call puts another brick in his ruck that he silently shoulders alone.

His high school friends cannot understand.

He sees the fear in his father’s eyes.  He can’t even look at his mother.

So, he runs. He runs and all of his battle buddies are there as he pushes through the heat and humidity, losing himself into the dust in the winds of Afghanistan as he mechanically runs through the streets of his hometown.  He can’t run far enough or fast enough but for just a minute he is no longer alone.

And I wait.  And I weep. And I pray.

Please. God. Help.

This has got to stop.

The loneliest number

22 Monday Jul 2013

Posted by marymargaretmaule in military tributes, Uncategorized

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Twenty-two. Everyday. This is the number of veterans we lose a day to suicide. I don’t have the solution- I just wish people knew the problem. We are currently engaged in the longest war in American history. Every morning I wake up and send up a prayer that people are safe, families are made whole and our veterans are seen- truly seen. When was the last time you thought about the war? Saw a news story about Afghanistan?
Less than 1% of the population has served in our all volunteer military. Less than half that number have been forward deployed to a combat zone. That number is too small to raise the same level of outrage that we did about Justin Beiber standing on the Indian Head in Chicago- or Kim & Kanye naming their kid something predictably stupid. I think that veterans struggle because they come home to invisibility. It is just my opinion- Start the conversation, LISTEN to their story. Don’t try to fix- try to see.

 

Those times when you just hit pause

09 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by marymargaretmaule in Uncategorized

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As I shared yesterday, I am involved in a program that writes letters of support to the families of fallen service members.  I have only been doing so for three weeks and have so far written 11 letters.

That in itself is enough to make me pause and still my heart for a moment, but today, as I sat to write my letter, I found myself truly feeling heartache. See, today, my letter was to the parents of Brandon Meyers of Plainfield, Il.

Brandon was a Marine- like many his age, he joined the Corps. right out of high school. He served two tours in Iraq and returned home to his family in November  of 2010. He loved cars and motorcycles. He loved his sister and his parents. He planned to attend community college to become automotive technician.

He was my daughter’s age.

He was plagued by PTSD and struggled to come to terms with the memories he could not forget. He didn’t sleep. He left a note for his family saying they would be better of without him. That is what took my breath away- how extreme is someone’s pain that they would think their family would be better dealing with their suicide than their behavior. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I don’t say that in judgement but in sadness.  I realize there is no way to understand what was going on in this young man’s head- and I hold no judgement about what he did. My heart just breaks that he was in such emotional pain.  That he made this choice.  That his world was so black he could no longer see the sun. It is the absence of hope that kills the soul. I pray for his family and hope for them.

I have a dear, dear friend who lost her son. We don’t talk about it. She is a strong woman and has spent her live committed to helping people in need. I know this- there is no one else in my life who is as attuned to my moods,

so willing to reach out and say Hi- (even if that is all she can do-) so I feel seen.

so willing to stand and look you dead in the eye at your darkest moment and say “Hey. I’m here.”

It is this same friend who once told me she made a commitment to be open to the everyday miracles in her life- and she is.

So often, she is blessed with joyful memories of her son in the actions of her grandchildren and others.  Her life is filled with joyful laughter and  her days with purpose.  And that is truly a blessing.

I tell myself it is out of the losses in her life that she has learned to live. I envy her spirit in a good way and strive to follow her example.

That is my hope for the Meyer’s family. That they are able to find joy and laughter in the memories of their son to balance the ache that will forever live in their hearts.  I ask that you send up a prayer for the Meyers family. And for all of the veterans striving to find their way back from the memories that haunt them.  I wish you peace and  hope that you can again find your place in the world. That is my prayer for you- that you cling to hope to lift you from the darkness. That hope reminds you of the joy you bring to those around you and gives you strength to shoulder on. I pray for you. It is my hope, that you can unpack the torment you carry in your ruck and leave it behind. I pray for hope.

 

Skies are crying to welcome the day

08 Monday Jul 2013

Posted by marymargaretmaule in Uncategorized

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My heart is heavy today, so it is only fitting that I wake to gray skies and rain. It helps for me to think the sky is crying as I write the families of fallen soldiers cards of sympathies.

I wasn’t thinking when I opted into the program of writing Gold Star parents- what a bizarre name it sounds almost like they won a prize.  I understand that the name is from the Gold Star banners award to the families of fallen military members. I proudly hung a blue star banner when my daughter was deployed.  And was grateful the day I took it down when she was home safe.

So when the writing campaign came across my desk I thought sure- I facilitate a writers group for veterans this would be something we could weave in to the program. Little did I realize the frequency of announcements dropping into my email box. When I received the first one, I was excited in a weird way not in a good way but more like an “Oh- this does really work.” kind of way, but then I grew concerned about what to write- so I waited for jus the right moment when I would be able to say something poignant and meaningful- and the days passed and more notifications filled my email box.

It was overwhelming to see the emails- it seemed like a new one each day- when I finally sat down to write them, I realized it was because several of them died together on the same day in the same horrific, senseless rocket attack in Bagram, Afghanistan. They were on the FOB doing their jobs. And then they were gone.

As I read each of the obituaries of these young people I felt as if I was an intruder. Like I am getting a glimpse into the lives of these families at their weakest moment. What can I possibly write to make them feel better?

Nothing- that is what I came away with. There are no words that will ease their grief, make the day any less horrible. I stayed away from platitudes of heros and defending my freedom.  As a mom, that would not ease my hurt, offer me comfort. I just put pen to paper and let the universe take over- I am deeply sorry you lost your child. I will hold you in my prayers. I thank you for raising a child who was willing to serve and am beholden to your family for their sacrifice. I hope you can fill your heart with memories of joy to lessen the grief that fills you now.

All I can do is hope it was enough.

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